


In Which Ray Regrets Eating An Entire Onion On An Empty Stomach

by SuperImposed



Series: Whump for the Whumpscord [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Eating Disorders, Emetophobia, Gen, Unreliable Narrator, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 18:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15913896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperImposed/pseuds/SuperImposed
Summary: @adexia got me into a Whump Discord and thereterriblelovely people there ended up inspiring me.The first thing I post on here with long-time OC Ray and it's.... this.





	In Which Ray Regrets Eating An Entire Onion On An Empty Stomach

**Author's Note:**

> Ray, who is severely anorexic, ate an entire onion to establish dominance. He did not consider that eating an entire dang onion on an (almost) empty, shrunk stomach might be a bad idea.

If Hell has a taste, he thinks, this is probably it.

His stomach heaves again, and he’s hit by the brief hysterical thought that if he’d been bulimic, he’d be used to this. Then he thinks that he doesn’t deserve for any of this to be easy.

Acid from the onion and from his stomach burn his throat, sulphur and bile mixing - emulsifying? - as he spews into the trash can. The fist ever-present under his ribs tightens further, pressing in and pressing in almost to his spine, clenching tight with each fresh retch. He’d say it feels like dying, if he didn’t already know what that felt like.

 _This sucks_.

It had been funny, at least, to shut that idiot prick up, watching his face go bloodless and his eyes go wide with each bite Ray had taken, never breaking gazes as he licked the last of the juice off his fingers, where it’d dripped down his wrist. It had been worth the burn of each bite going down - and each hurl coming up, even.

_That bastard can get bent._

It’d taken him a while to realize his stomach was rebelling, that the usually-repressed pain and the pressure building in his gut weren’t the same. He’d barely bolted to the trash in time - hadn’t entirely, spew dripping down the sides of the weatherproof cage on it.

At least he’d thought to leave and not run to the bathroom - no one needed to know about how pathetic he was.

Another wave has him pressing his arm _hard_ across the plane of his stomach, a weak groan escaping him as barely more than a mouthful of vomit - mostly bile and drool, really - spills into the disgusting trash can.

If Hell has a taste, this is probably it.


End file.
